


Inbetween

by RandomNoOne101



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomNoOne101/pseuds/RandomNoOne101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is coerced into escorting a mage escaping the Kirkwall Circle to Denerim. Prejudice, both past and present, forges a unexpected bond of friendship and intimacy between them.<br/>Occurs between Acts 2 and 3, follows the events of the game to the best of the author's remembrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really understand how the formatting works.  
> Hope you enjoy.  
> Further chapters may* include graphic sex scenes.
> 
> *May=Will  
> Kaffas= Tevene for shit  
> Falgorn=Tevene for dwarf

In Lijiang, the sign outside your hostel  
glares: Ride alone, ride alone, ride  
alone – it taunts you for the mileage  
of your solitude, must be past  
thousands, for you rode this plane  
alone, this train alone, you’ll ride  
this bus alone well into the summer night,  
well into the next hamlet, town,  
city, the next century, as the trees twitch  
and the clouds wane and the tides  
quiver and the galaxies tilt and the sun  
spins us another lonely cycle, you’ll  
wonder if this compass will ever change.  
The sun doesn’t need more heat,  
so why should you? The trees don’t need  
to be close, so why should you?  
-Sally Wen Mao  


“No,” he stated bluntly.  
“Come on, Elf, it’s good money and a good cause.”  
“Since when have you become so political, Varric?”  
“Since I can make a couple sovereigns by helping a damsel in distress.”  
“There was always money in that, and said damsel could lob fireballs at distressing elements. Regretfully, I will have to decline.”  
“It’s 50 sovereigns, an all-expense paid trip to Denerim, and all for a few weeks of babysitting. Can’t you break your no mage rule just one more time?”  
“Why do you not take the trip yourself?”  
“I’m too valuable to risk.”  
“I thought it was an easy job.”  
“It is an easy job for a guy who can punch holes into people’s chest.”  
Fenris chuckled. His legs rested on the table; he sprawled himself out as comfortably as he could in the hard wooden chairs of the Hanged Man, pressed a glass of their wine, the one tasted the least like Nug piss, to his lips and emptied it. His sword casually rested against the door. He shook off his cold gauntlets when the drink made his body flush.  
“I’m not so desperate yet that I need to endanger myself with apostates for mere 50 sovereigns. Is that the only reason you invited me here or are we going to play cards?”  
“I don’t know, as much as I love beating you at Diamondback, a more moral man would feel guilty robbing you of your last coin. And you’re drunk. If it was anymore corrupt I’d have to run for Viscount.” Varric protested but he started shuffling.  
“Hardly,” Fenris smirked as he poured himself another glass, “this piss is so watered down it barely has that Mabari aftertaste.” Varric was quiet for a moment as he dealt the cards and carefully calculated his hand.  
“It’s not just about the money. It would do you good to get out more. You squat in that damp hell hole, brooding, all day and that’s just not healthy or good for your complexion. You’ll have gray hairs before the year is up.” Varric clucked his tongue.  
“Too late. I don’t brood, I sulk. I do so quietly. Perhaps you could return the favor?”  
“If I stopped talking you’d forget I was here and trip over me. Brooding or sulking, wouldn’t you like to see the sunshine a bit? Escape from the horrors of slavery to sit in a dark hole all day? Terrible ending to the story. It would never sell.”  
“Ah, my vertically challenged friend, I escaped only to stumble upon the fortune of your large wit. What other riches would I need?”  
“You would be doing Hawke a fav…”  
“I would be doing Anders a favor. I raise and take two.” Fenris discarded his cards.  
“You would be doing me a favor by checking up on Isabella. You of all people should miss her. Dealer takes one.” Varric dealt again.  
“Not that much. Why can she not simply come to Kirkwall to pick it up?”  
“She. Not it. And Isabelle won’t come five leagues of here until the heats off. Plus she’s still tidying up some business in Antiva and she won’t get here in time. I raise.”  
“Ask someone else.”  
“Aveline can’t leave the city. Sebastian would probably turn her back in. Hawke is too famous. Daisy is too Daisy. Blondie…” Varric paused when Fenris rolled his eyes, “well, it’s hard to run an underground rebellion while off playing hero.”  
Fenris grunted again. His hand was shit. But Varric scratched behind ear. Obviously he had nothing. Varric raised again but he wasn’t about to be scarred off.  
“How is it such a charming character like yourself has no other assets?”  
“None as capable as you.”  
“Flattery. Thanks Varric, but you know an elf and falgard would cause too much of a scandal. Think of my reputation!” he retorted with a drunken half smile. Fenris put down his cards for a moment, “What’s in this for you, anyway? Why are you pushing so hard?”  
“Her mother worked for me.”  
“All this for a pair of tits? The Rose is cheaper,” Fenris admonished, only half mockingly.  
“Worked being the object word. Her tits were awe inspiring but they’ve been decaying for a few years now.”  
“You cannot pay a debt to a dead woman. I raise again.” Fenris picked his cards back up.  
“Speaking of debt! You owe me about… oh, I don’t know: thousands upon thousands of pounds of gold with all the drinks, Carta protection, and well, all the losing you do. How about I make you a deal elf? You fold that pitiful hand right now and just let me have last two coins you have or call and if you win we’ll call it square. If I win, you go to Ferelden.”  
The wine was catching up to him. Varric scratched the back of his neck again. Fenris felt good about his 3 drakes and serpent,  
“Trying to buy you way out of a bluff? How dreadfully cliché.” Fenris tossed his silver in, “Show them.”  
Varric dropped his cards. Four drakes. Fenris glared,  
“Seven drakes in your deck? Damn cheater.”  
“Damn right. My reputation demands it.”  
Fenris groaned, “When?”  
“Pack your things tomorrow. But tonight let’s get a bottle and turn this into a going away party.”  
“You’d better buy me more than one damn bottle.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Drip.  
Drop.  
Drip.  
Drop.  
Drip.  
“Fuck.”  
Drop.  
It was raining, because of course it was. Tiny droplets fell beside her bedroll and splashed against her cheek. Every drop caused her such seething rage she could punch a nug in the face. Gooseflesh covered her and violent shivers racked her body. Luckily, she wasn’t tired. Being on the run wasn’t as active as she thought it might. It involved a lot more sitting quietly and waiting for death than she liked.  
Sidda ran her fingers through her hair. It was oily and she frowned. She probably smelled like rot, she mused; and let out another pitiful yet angry groan. She missed the tower. No, she told herself vehemently. She just missed being clean. There wasn’t much for luxury for someone being held against their will for being born… gifted, but at least she could take baths whenever she wanted.  
“Warm, soapy water. That’s what I miss. And maybe the food. And a dry bed. And people to talk to. Although, the constant threat of death makes it feel just at home again.”  
“Home.” She chewed the word in her mouth. “I shouldn’t call the tower her home. Wasn’t it just a prison?” she questioned herself, If I wasn’t a mage, I could have had a real home with bar free windows and doors that locked from the inside. But now that I was supposedly free maybe I could have that chance again. Sure, mother is dead now, and the rest of my family couldn’t risk having me but at least I’ve a chance now. A home. Maybe. Not like I have much choice now. Right? What’s done is done. I’ve run off. I had to or…” she swallowed hard.  
“Bitch. Bitch. Bitch,” she shouted while toying with her dark locks again. Commander Cullen would have seen reason. Those soft, sad eyes always under cut that brisk, demanding, fierce tone. He was strict. He did not like mages. He was by the book. But under all that armor was a gentleman, no matter how he tried to hide it. She saw it once when a nervous little mouse of a girl dropped her books when she almost stumbled in the hall. He picked them up and handed them back to her without breaking his conversation with the Templar beside him. The girl grimaced guiltily and he nodded then moved so she could scurry away. But that little incident happened two years ago. With the Qunari invasion and “flagrant abuses of magic” came new rules and Templars were given far more leniency in their abilities to control the mage threat.  
Cullen would have protected her, if he could have. Even Thrask would have helped her, had he still been at the tower. But Meredith? Knight Commander Meredith just wanted an excuse. Hawke was flagrantly disregarding the rules. He was a free mage. And if she couldn’t have Hawke, woe to the poor saps she could handle. Specifically, saps that attack Templars. It wouldn’t matter the reason. Using magic against a Templar would have gotten her the brand.  
No Thrask, no Cullen. No one could help her now except the hushed whispers of a mage savior and underground. To think she once dismissed it as nonsense when the clucking hens bristled their feathers in the library. Her, leave the tower? Ridiculous. Her magic was growing under Orsinio’s tutelage. She had a library she could spend hours in and the constant lock downs made it easier to avoid interruptions when she was reading. Even if wanted to go, the outside world didn’t want her there. But that seemed like an entirely different age now. And she, Siddalee Greywick, was an apostate and soon to be fleeing the only city she has ever known.  
Luckily, she still had Genetivis Poetry of Thedas to keep her company. It was the only book in her room when she packed to leave. There was not enough light in the dank little hole to read it tonight but she felt better when she pressed it against her chest and breathed in the smell of the pages. This was like the stories she read, no? She was off on an adventure. The protagonist. She was practically pissing her pants, she thought, but still the protagonist. Anders was a savior. Handsome even if a little… off. He sent her to this safe house. He made all the arrangements.  
It was easier, he said, because of the money her mother smuggled to her. Mages couldn’t inherit anything directly. But her mother slipped her a key to a safety deposit box before Meredith started denying visitation. Her mother was a friend of the merchant’s guild and got a hefty sum for her information. Being beautiful and busty helped. 392 sovereigns. Not a fortune but enough to start a new life. Enough to hire a guard to get her to Ostwick, for a boat ride across the sea, and get her started until she found some paying work.  
How hard could it possibly be?  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Kaffas.”  
Fenris’ stomach gave another queasy lurch. The sun was absurdly bright but the more he looked down the more closer he was to tossing the pig oat mash he had this morning. Hangover cure, his ass. His calloused and bare feet scratched the sand under him. The warmth was mildly pleasant. He was going to pummel that dirty, cheating dwarf when this was over.  
He had not needed to do much packing this morning, not that there was ever much for him pack. More than he ever had before, he supposed. Varric already bought him supplies to travel. He left most of it at the Hanged Man. He was one to travel light. His sword, armor, poultices, a couple changes of clothes and some food was all he needed. Camping equipment would only make this trip last longer than it had to be and he would just steal any wise that he might have needed.  
Hawke was slumped against the entrance to the cave. Smirking. He had come to see him off. Another sign the dwarf had set him up last night. Hawke must have been enjoying this too he thought bitterly. Mages always stick together. He let out a breath. But at least Hawke was sensible. Not like that damn blood mage or abomination. No, Hawke was a good man. Although that didn’t lessen the urge to smack that shit eating grin Hawke had on.  
“Shut up.”  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
“Shut up.”  
“I think you’re doing a very nice thing.”  
“I will not hesitate to stab you.”  
“I love you too, my glowing friend.”  
Fenris cocked his face up to glower at the grinning imbecile but the damn sun made him quickly drop his head once more. He heard footsteps approach from just over the ridge. He turned his head.  
“What is it?” Hawke asked with a shrug, reaching for his staff.  
“Someone’s coming.” Hawke couldn’t even hear the light and shaky pitter patter of feet against unfamiliar ground but it was like a drum’s bang that rang in Fenris’ groggy mind. First Ander’s made his way into his sight. Fenris sneered but it was much too early and he was far too hung over to put any real hate behind it. But his scowl deepened when Fenris measured the girl that now came into view. She was a pale, short, fat little thing. Just barely too tall to be a dwarf. She was already breathing heavier from the short walk from the safe house and she looked like she was about to be sick. This was going to be a long journey.  
“Remember once you get to the city, you’re going to have to lose the staff. It’s a dead giveaway.” Stupid Anders was talking, loudly and extra stupidly, but it brought Fenris out of his haze.  
“Yes, that particular give away does get you rather dead,” Hawke chimed in cheerily.  
“Not everybody, Serah…?” she gestured to his staff.  
“Just Hawke. And not everybody has a handsome mug that can distract even the most devout Templars.”  
“Really? And when is he going to show up, Just Hawke?” Sidda asked.  
“Ha. I like you. You caught me. I confess I only keep interesting looking companions to keep me out of the limelight. There’s elf that glows, Varric’s chest hair, Isabella’s chest, and Ander’s has that weird feather thing he wears and he can glow…”  
Ander’s shot Hawke a menacing look, and interrupted:  
“Hawke has the money and influence to keep away the Templars. You don’t.”  
“So unless you’ve a chance to save a city from a horde of ramping Quanari and kill an Arisok along the way, you’ll have to be a bit more clever than I.”  
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Anders glared.  
“Good looking people don’t have to be smart.”  
“If you two are quite done flirting, I’d like to get going before dark.” Fenris interrupted.  
“Ah, right. My lady…” Hawke gestured to her.  
“Sidda.”  
“Right, Sidda. Fenris. Fenris. Sidda. He is very excited to be accompanying you in your travels. ”  
“Oh, very excited, by the looks of it. He’ll make an excellent guard dog, so long as he keeps his hands from ripping your intestines out.” Ander’s spoke jovially.  
“I would do so with yours, apostate, if it didn’t take so long to get the blight out of my greaves,” replied Fenris darkly.  
“Gentleman! There is a lady present. It would be best if we cut this pissing contest a bit short. Besides we already measured and I won,” Hawke proclaimed.  
“How does one judge a pissing contest? Was that for time or reach?” Sidda asked innocently.  
“Color,” Hawke replied.  
“Awkward,” she smiled.  
“Quite,” Hawke winked.  
“Finished?” quipped Fenris coolly. The conversation drilling against his throbbing temple. He turned a started to the mouth of the cave, not looking back to see if the bloody female mage was following. At his back he heard Hawke retort,  
“There goes your ride, funny girl. Best be off. Keep your head down. Try not to die.”  
“Write to Varric when you’re safe in Denerim,” said Anders as Sidda ambled to the cave. She turned, and smiled with great sincerity,  
“Thanks, guys, you’ve saved my life.”  
“Anything for a pretty face.” Hawke waved, “And don’t mind if Fenris is a bit grumpy, he will keep you safe.” Sidda waved back and turned, she took a breath and darted after her escort.  
“And how sure are you he won’t just murder her on the way there and spend the next 3 weeks getting drunk in Ostwick?” Anders muttered after Sidda was out of earshot.  
“70/30?”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He had an impossibly a long stride for an elf but she tried to keep up the best she could. Sidda wondered curiously how or why the torches along the wall were lit when, judging by the dried gore and dust, it looked like this pave was long abandoned.  
“It’s empty. Entirely empty. Clearly all the creepy crawlers were brutally murdered long ago,” she thought over and over again to reassure herself. She kept her head down and watched her feet. The floor was uneven, damp, and littered with muck. Fenris was more than a few paces ahead. In the muck, she could see by the dim torch light, was an imprint of a bare foot. Her brow furrowed quizzically and she glanced further ahead.  
“You aren’t wearing any shoes?” her question echoed down the long passage, startling her. It was the first time the silence was broken in over the hour they had been walking.  
“No.” he replied curtly.  
“How come? The floor is gross and…” she replied. Fenris raised his hand to silence her:  
“Stop talking,” he ordered evenly.  
“What is there something up there?” Sidda spoke in a hushed whisper.  
“No.”  
“Oh.” Sidda deflated, “Well, aren’t you charming?”  
The silence returned, only broken by her clumsy footsteps and grunts of effort.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He wanted to be home. He wanted to sleep this headache off, then when night fell, drink until he got another one. He certainly did not want to be walking on the floor of a cave under wetlands. A disgusting floor, as she so thoughtfully pointed out. She was slow. Impossibly slow. But that was to be expected from a pampered little mage that sat around half her life getting fat and learning treacherous magic. He knew her kind well. Her feet would have no calluses. Her hands would be soft and delicate. Hands that never knew a day’s work but could rain down fire and lighting upon the helpless as a moment’s notice or beckon a slave so causally a free man would think it graceful but…  
“Enough.” he sighed inwardly. He had to stop poisoning himself as Hawke said. Move on as Hawke said. He was trying, he felt. Not about to just forgive as Hawke suggested, but he would not give Hadraina the honor of being remembered by him. He let his thoughts return back to the mage struggling behind him. At least, he chuckled, she would be physically unable to run ahead into any creatures lying in wait and get her useless self killed. He slowed briefly when her footsteps sounded too far behind him but not enough to allow her to slow down. Her breathe was labored as she tried to keep up, probably why she made no more attempts to talk. His first bit of luck since last night.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Fenris set a brutal pace and did not let up until night had surely fallen and Sidda, try as she might could not keep with the pace. She kept falling further and further behind and Fenris had to pause so frequently that he eventually gave up all together when he came upon a crop of swamp cave floor that was dry. Or at least more dry than the rest of the floor. He dropped his pack unceremoniously, sat on the ground with his back resting on the wall, and placed his great sword against one shoulder with the tip of the blade buried in the moist dirt.  
“Rest,” he said, his eyes already shut, “we will continue in a few hours.”  
Sidda looked as if she would weep from joy. She dumped her heavy pack on the floor and laid on the ground. The ground gave no comfort but she was asleep before she could even curl into a ball for warmth.  
Fenris nudged her awake with his foot in her side after what felt like minutes. Her legs felt like burning heavy boulders and her back groaned as she tried to sit up. A sneaking suspicion the second day would be harder than the first knocked around her thoughts. She propped herself against the closest rock and reached into her pack for water and a meager breakfast. They were both silent again. She tried to rotate her ankles to relieve the cramping and sent soft wave of healing magic to her bloody and sore feet while Fenris starred down the end of the passage with an expressionless face.  
“Don't you eat?” She said after a bit. The stony silence was enough to bother even an introvert such as herself.  
“Do not concern yourself.” The quiet returned. The aches and sores slowly eased from Sidda’s legs and feet but she was in no rush to start her torturous trudge. She racked her foggy brain for a topic of conversation.  
“You don't sound like you're from Kirkwall. Where you from?”  
“Tevinter.”  
“Oh,” her voice thick with sleep, “Is it pretty there? I haven't seen anywhere else besides Kirkwall.”  
“I would not know. Perhaps.”  
“Oh. I imagine most places would be prettier than Kirkwall. You left when you were young then? Do you miss it?”  
“Magisiters do not take their slaves to many pretty places,” he replied flatly.  
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.  
Fenris shrugged.  
“Is that why you don’t like me?” Sidda asked cautiously, as Fenris picked himself off the ground. He surveyed her questioning face as if this was the first time saw her. A flicker of recognition washed across his face before he turned away from her,  
“It is time we start moving,” was all he replied.  
His voice and body language seemed no different from yesterday but he somehow felt less hostile, it made Sidda hopeful that he would slow his painful pace, but as she saw he had already started moving before she even stood up those hopes quickly dissipated.  
Hours passed. The floor began to slope upward, which Sidda took to mean they must be at least at a half-way point. She wouldn't miss the dank tunnel. But the climb was even harder on her sore feet and cramping thighs.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Sidda had never been this exhausted, filthy, or discontented in her life. It had been four days of endless trudging. Four days of sleeping in the damp, cold ground. The odd pair made their way out of the tunnel on the second day but remained off the main roads at the insistence of her taciturn bodyguard, and where now plodding through an overgrown trail through a Maker forsaken forest. Her only salvation came from imagining what a steaming hot bath would feel like against her rigid calves. When that wasn’t enough, she daydreamed of resting on Antivan shores, with the sun against her cheeks and toes in the sand. She daydreamed of the endless banquets in Orlais and eating until the y had to roll her away on wheelcart. She dreamed of many things and told herself that maybe now they could be true. If it did take a great effort to smile she would have. But it kept her moving until--  
“Ughhhh argh,” Sidda squealed and abruptly halted. Quite a few paces ahead of her, Fenris spun lithely around and closed the distance between them instantaneously. He tilted his head and raised his brow quizzically when instead of an attacker all he saw was Sidda’s flailing about and batting at her face,  
“What is it?”  
“Spider web in my face,” she mumbled pitifully as she tried to brush it off her.  
“Stop looking at your feet and pay attention to what’s in front of you,” he smirked and turned back around.  
“Easy for you to say. You’re used to this sort of thing and you’ve been this way before.”  
“No, I have not. And I thought we agreed on no talking.”  
“Excuse me? You know what I’m tired of you being such a hard ass to me. Aside from the fact that I haven’t the slightest idea what I did to offend you, and I am a nice person, damn it! Aren’t I paying you 50 sovereigns? Should that make you a bit less of an ass towards me?”  
“I am sure there is not enough money in Thedas to pay for that.”  
“Could you please explain what I did wrong? Because you are just… I don’t even… you’re just so rude.” Sidda accused in the most aggravated tone she could muster between breaths.  
“Because magic is dangerous,” he chided in his dangerously gravely but patient timbre, “And instead of doing the smart thing and staying in the Circle where your magic can be watched, you play the victim and ran away from the horrors of your pampered little cage. You do not know how to survive in the real world, least of all by yourself. You are going to be a fugitive for the rest of your life, until some Templar catches you or you ultimately give up and resort to becoming a blood mage or abomination. I understand that a mage cannot help being born into magic, but what you are doing is irresponsible.” He paused then added with a sneer, “And worst of all, now you are my problem for the next 3 weeks, when I would rather be sleeping off some hangover in the comforts of my own home. Plus, you are very bad at the running part of your running away.”  
“I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t have to justify myself to you. But why would you even agree to come in the first place if that’s how you felt?” she asked venomously.  
“I lost a bet.” He retorted.  
“Great, just fantastic. Let’s go back to not talking.” Sidda shouted. Fenris started on the path again, while Sidda seethed blissfully quiet behind him. For a few moments, anyway.  
“What do you mean you haven’t been here before?” Sidda snarled. Her foul mood could not be tempered even by the fair amount of effort it took her to maneuver over the roots and rocks of the forest floor.  
“Am I speaking to quickly for you?”  
“You don’t know the way?”  
“Is straight ahead too hard to follow?”  
“Oh.. so as long as we don’t come to a fork in the road we’re fine? Or I don’t know; walk into a spider’s nest or bandits.”  
“If that happens just stay out of my way and try not to die.”  
“Well, that’s comforting.”  
"I surmise it is hard for a mage to imagine, but the world is not built around your comforts"  
"Do you really not know the way or are you just saying that to be a prick?"  
“Reluctantly or not I agreed to get you to Ferelden. We follow this path that goes along the coast. Once we put a few more days between us and Kirkwall and then we can travel on the main road which leads to Ostwick. In Ostwick, we catch a boat that goes to Denerim. I am more than a match for anyone we meet along the way. Any other questions?"  
"Was that so hard to say?" was her snarky retort. Had she not needed to stare at her feet the entire journey, she may have marveled at the beautiful flora that surrounded them. The spring flowers may have been gone but the slants of light that managed to penetrate the thick bushes overhead had an exquisiteness of their own. But between watching her own steps, general seething, and increasing hatred of how seemingly easy it was for the prick in front of her to gracefully maneuver the undergrowth, Sidda nearly collided with the hard body of her grumpy defender.  
“What now?” she asked.  
“Quiet,” he whispered, one hand on the hilt of his great sword, ears twitching towards the slightest noises of the wood. She turned around to watch the rear with her staff at the ready. She could hear nothing other than the slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and the pounding of her heart in against her rib cage. There was soft drip to her left, and she internally cursed the Maker for creating rain. Although rain did not typically burn leaves, she quietly mused to herself. The sickly sweet smell of toxin rose with the wisps of smoke at her feet. She forced her reluctant head upwards. A nimble mass of hairy legs and poison tipped fangs scuttled through the thick canopy. A bloodcurdling scream erupted from her lips when one of the horrific creatures dropped from the tree tops towards her face.  
“Spiders!” Sidda’s fearful screams were dampened by the sound of her staff thwacking the nearest one on the head and dropping it to the forest’s floor. It screeched and lunged at her again. She jammed the sharpened point of her staff into the one of the creature’s bulbous many eyes, putting all her weight in the blow; the staff pierced straight through and hit sunk in the dirt. Another dropped from above, but she didn’t have enough time to yank her staff from the ground before it hurtled forward.  
A gleaming flash of silver and there was a spray of gore erupted into the air. A dozen more fell from the canopy. Fenris cut through the hideous beasts wordlessly and with ease, as if slicing through a particularly soft type of cheese. Sidda finally pried her staff from the dirt and sent searing flames into the wave of disgusting arachnids behind her. They made horrid screams as their husks sizzled. Still they lashed at her but Sidda repelled them with the heavy end of her staff. Spurts of blood fell over her robes and uncovered face. But as quickly as the horde was upon them, the fighting ended. A dozen or so of spider carcasses littered the ground. Far more pieces were in front of Fenris’ blade but scorched bodies brought far more pleasure to Sidda then she thought possible.  
“Maybe we should walk on the road now?” she question.  
“No, that’s not a good idea. These things are the least of our problems. You would fare far worse against Templars.” Fenris replied patiently. Sidda took off her bloody outer robes, and shook off the hacked and amputated bits as best she could while Fenris sheathed his sword and absentmindedly kicked the carcasses to see if anything useful fell out.  
“I would really like to stop somewhere with a bed and food, and I can’t wear these clothes anymore. Do you think we are near a town?” Sidda pressed with a combination of aggravation and distress in her voice.  
“We should journey a few days more before stopping anywhere around people. Small towns question strangers,” he said as a matter of fact, as if explaining the need for discretion to a tyrannical child.  
“I don’t care, I’m the one funding this operation and I need to take a break.”  
“We still have a long way to go. It would be unwise.”  
“I’m covered in spider entrails! I NEED TO STOP!”


End file.
